


Alone Together

by AHappyPup



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Coping, Gen, but they'll get there, debriefing after trauma, they're kids who don't always cope well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25581976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHappyPup/pseuds/AHappyPup
Summary: When all was said in done, they had to deal with their terrors in their own ways.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27
Collections: Dimension 20 Fic Exchange 2020





	Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [macaronidoodles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/macaronidoodles/gifts).



> Prompt: The Bad Kids debriefing after defeating the Nightmare King/general post-sophomore year hurt/comfort
> 
> The kids need a minute

Retrieving the crown was meant to be nothing more than an assignment. And once the assignment had ended and the majority of their grade secured, there was nothing left to do but go home. Move on.

But moving on certainly wasn’t easy.

Kristen prayed.

It wasn’t the first time she had created a religion, which in it of itself was weird to say, but it did mean she knew a little bit about what she was doing. Talking with Cassandra made her feel grounded. It reminded her that what had happened was real. And if the forest was real and Cassandra was real, then it mattered to someone- even if that someone was just her.

They talked often. Kristen set up a small shrine for them in the chapel. It wasn’t fancy or ornate like the shrines she grew up seeing for Helio, but it was right. Cassandra let her do what felt right. A belief was based on its followers, they often reminded her, not the desires of the goddex above. Even if that belief was made of one person.

The way she prayed to Cassandra was different than it was to Helio or to Yes. It wasn’t the same as worship, but it wasn’t the same as conversation either. Some days, Kristen would talk until her voice was hoarse, mulling what she thought these kinds of things meant, what it was to be a mystery and a land in between. Other days, she sat in silence, letting Cassandra’s presence surround her like a warm hug. And still other days, she listened, letting Cassandra tell stories from their many kinds of lives.

She never thought religion could provide her comfort again. Not after her mother’s shunning or the failure of her own deity. And yet here she was.

And in the orange glow of the evening sky, Kristen prayed.

Fabian danced.

It was like sword dancing without his sword. His movements were fluid and purposeful, something that he could focus on instead of the breaking of his heart. He learned to channel his magic through dance, an inherent kind he didn’t even know he was capable of. His father would have been so proud; that’s what Cathlilda had said.

And yet he still felt he was letting his papa down.

He had fought for his papa’s honor in front of his patrons and gotten almost all of them killed. And when he went back for the revenge kill, Adaine had gotten taken and they had a whole new set of issues to deal with. Everything he tried to help, he only made worse it seemed.

But at least when he danced, he could forget. He could lose himself in the strain of his muscles and focus on something else for a few minutes.

And so on the cobblestone of the courtyard Fabian danced.

Fig played.

The quest had brought her so many good things. It brought her Ayda. It brought her closer with her mom in a strange way. It made Gilear stronger. And even with all these good things, she couldn’t help but feel sad.

She had talked to Jawbone about it once. He told her about how changes, even good changes, make us sad and mourn for the past. When he first said it, she didn’t think much of it. What was there to mourn? The past hatred of her parents? It didn’t make much sense at all to her.

But then her music put words to the thoughts, as if she was subconsciously answering her own questions. She wrote songs about Ayda, songs about her new role of an arch devil, songs about her family. Her music felt different now, more uncertain and yet somehow stronger in that uncertainty.

It confused her until she remembered Jawbone’s words. She mourned the security of her before. She mourned the security of being preppy and the latter security of rebelling against everyone. She didn’t feel the need to be either anymore, and in that didn’t feel the need to be much of anyone.

She was just Fig. And she didn’t know who that was exactly anymore. Maybe she would never know who that was. But even if she didn’t know, her music was there ready to lend a hand while she worked it out herself.

And on the soft carpet of her room, Fig played.

Gorgug tinkered.

He spent long hours on the new bench his parents built for him. He had always been curious as a kid about his parents’ work, but his fingers had always been too thick and clumsy to work before. Now there was a peace that washed over him as crossed wires over an electronic board, a sensation of completeness.

Since he had been back, it felt like one of the few times he felt like he could be just Gorgug. Not Gorgug, leader drummer for the Cig Figs or Gorgug, Zelda’s boyfriend, or Gorgug, the adventurer. Here he was just Gorgug, who loves his mom and dad and his friends. Gorgug who could chop down trees with two swings of his axe and also put together the most delicate of electronics. Gorgug, who had bothbboth and brawn.

And on the hard concrete of the garage, Gorgug tinkered.

Adaine punched.

Adaine punched because it kept her from feeling the pangs in her heart she wasn’t ready to deal with. Jawbone had gotten her a punching bag- technically it was for Fig, but they taught her how to use it- and she punched for hours at night. It was the only thing she could feel, only thing that felt safe to feel.

It was better than the tangled mess her mind had been after they got home. Her father was dead. Her mother couldn’t touch her in the slightest. Her dad was a werewolf who loved unconditionally. Her sister was recovering. It was hard to know what she really felt about all that.

At night, she worried. She had always worried, but lately it had been more than normal. Punching was easier than watching Aelwyn struggle to breathe as the aftermath of her year of torture manifested in another fever, another infection. It kept her from thinking about how terrible their parents had been or the guilt she felt for getting out of her parents home. It kept her from seeing the visions of the forest, visions of her future self all along. It was easier this way.

And as the night turned to day, Adaine punched.

Riz wrote.

Augefort didn’t require a written report of their adventures, the crown was good enough for their A. But that didn’t stop Riz from writing for hours on end. He told his friends it was for his internship in Heaven, but the reality was it let him live it again. It let him control how it felt.

He wrote pages and pages on how Kalina had plagued his mind and plagued his friends and how she nearly killed them all. He got to write the horrors and write just how bad it felt. And in all the tragedy, he was allowed to feel the good again as well. He never wanted to forget what happened and how it changed them all.

Even if it wasn’t for the better.

And in the dim florescent light, of his office, Riz wrote.

But in the days and weeks after the nightmare forest, this above all else remained true. The bad kids were in this together and had survived it together and would continue to survive it together.

And that was enough.


End file.
